The Way of the Last
by blue-scribe
Summary: A philosophical inquiry into the true nature of the Force; with lots of fighting. More than likely all that I say here will be made obsolete by the EU by the time you read it.


Legal Errata: I think we all know what's what. Star Wars, and all characters, locations, objects, and conceptions therein belong to George Lucas. Everything else belongs to me. Most especially Cale Iba'Masaad, the Masaada, and the Turinese. Meta-books too.

The Way of the Last

By bluescribe

Cale entered Tumno's workshop. The squat little dwarf was standing at a workbench, one low enough for him to hunch over whatever it was he was working on. Cale took a seat on a stool behind him. When Tumno didn't turn around, Cale coughed.

     "Ah, there you are," he said, still hunched over his project. "I trust that everything went well with the slicer?"

     Cale shrugged, "He managed to get off planet, but then he ran to the nearest moon. I had him in an hour."

     "Any resistance?"

     "A bit. I broke most of the bones in his left hand."

     Tumno finally turned around, "I hope he was carrying a weapon."

     "Several."

     "Then it was justified."     

     "Of course. I'm not a novice at this."

     Tumno smiled, "I know. But the boss has to worry about such things, right?"

     Cale didn't answer. Tumno returned to his work, "The good news is that I have another job for us."  

     "For me, you mean."

     "Whining is unbecoming," Tumno grabbed what had to be the smallest welding torch Cale had every seen and began to apply it haphazardly around what he was working on. As he shifted Cale saw the stock. A gun. Typical. "I have another job, starting immediately."

     "I don't suppose you recall your promise to let me have some time off, do you? Spend some of the money I've been making?"

     Tumno walked past Cale and started to rummage through a bin. It was a blaster on the workbench, minus the trigger assembly. The design was odd, Cale could see that, but he couldn't intuit completely what made it odd. Weapons were his strong suit, both use and design, but Tumno could surprise him still.

     "I haven't forgotten, but with this payoff, you'll have twice as much money to spend."

     "What's the job?"

     Tumno found the piece he was looking for and brought it back to the bench. He wiped off his hands and tossed a datapad to Cale.

     Cale browsed through the information. "Cliam Efreet… wanted on three counts of illegal bounty collection… illegal weapons possession… two counts of explosives smuggling…" Cale made it down to the bounty listing. "They put up this much for this guy? This is four or five times what he's worth."

     Tumno grabbed a spanner, "That's the offer, straight from the Ministry of Justice, Bureau of Bounty Relations. Read the dossier."

     Cale flipped to it and read for almost a minute before he found something of interest. "Says he's ex-Resurrectionist. From a commando unit."

     "From _the_ commando unit. Offsen's Brigands. He was XO for them during the during their little episode. Might have been commander if he hadn't developed such an affinity for stik."

     "I still don't understand it."

     Tumno made a few adjustments to the barrel, a stubby excuse for one. "You never read ahead, do you? It's not what he did that makes him so expensive; it's what he might have done.

     "Efreet is suspected of no less than fourteen assassinations in the last year. No evidence, of course, he's too good for that, but plenty of suspicion. Most likely it's from the underworld. The victims were almost exclusively semi-wealthy smugglers, though one was a minor official in the security forces on Dela Nine. The Republic wants him in a place with lots of metal bars. Wants him there badly." Tumno grabbed the trigger assembly. "And Intelligence wants him too. No one's sure who ordered the assassinations."     

     "Resurrectionists from the Cluster?"

     "Maybe. Who knows?"

     "He's going to resist me, isn't he?"

     "Of course he is. He'll probably try to kill you, and try very hard."

     "Then why don't you try to take this one in?" Cale asked.

     Tumno smiled, "With these crippled legs, I wouldn't stand a chance." He picked the gun up from the bench and brought it to Cale. It was small, something easily concealable-with the stock folded it was about as long as his forearm. "I upped the rate of fire. Range and power suffered a bit so you could get as many shots out of the cells as before, but in close quarters it's a killer. Besides, you've already got a toy for long range work."

     "There's no stun setting."

     Tumno's smile never wavered, "Aim for his legs."

     Cale looked the weapon over. Tumno had been his weapon smith and boss since he'd gotten started out here, close to five years ago. CT Bounties had grown in wealth, but it was still the two of them, both very good at their ends of the bargain. The blaster was fine, very fine, maybe without all the sentimental value of his other weapons, but a product of meticulous care.

     "You approve?" Tumno asked.

     Cale only nodded, he was taking in the blaster still, appreciating it. Machines were not his forte, but weapons were. He understood all of them, intimately, instantly.

     "Where's his last known location?" Cale asked.

     "If you were running from the Republic's finest, where else would you be but the heart of the Republic?"

     Cale's eyes narrowed, "I hate Coruscant."

     "Your ship is all prepped and ready to go."

     Cale sighed, "You got a familiar for me?"

     Tumno pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. "I went through all kinds of headaches to get this for you. The security forces on Primo were less than cooperative. Even our contact in the Justice Ministry was a little reluctant, despite your record. Even I don't know why your want these things."  
     Cale opened the bag. Inside there was a swatch of cloth, burned along two edges. "You sure this came off him?"

     "One of the Primo sec guys managed to get a shot off before Efreet, this came from one of his sleeves." Tumno watched Cale as the younger man touched the cloth almost reverently. He closed his eyes for a moment, pensively, then opened them, put the cloth back into the bag.

     "I guess I'll be going then," he said.

     Tumno nodded. Cale left as silently as he entered.

-----

From Ribisi System to Coruscant was a voyage of a day and a half through hyperspace. Cale passed the time reading and writing, as he usually did. He was working on a personal history, something to go with all the other books he'd salvaged from the archives on Angil. It seemed wrong that the story of the Masaada didn't contain something from the last surviving member.

     Opening a meta-book, he started to write.

_I am the last known member of the Jedi sect called the Masaada. We left the Old Republic two centuries before its downfall, our philosophers already prophesying its doom._

_     The sect moved to the system called Angil, after erasing its location from all the Archives. It was hoped that there, in secret, they might be able to prepare themselves for the death of the Republic and what they felt would take its place: the Sith._

_     The Masaada made secrecy their watchword. No one was allowed to leave the system. All ties to the Old Republic were cut off, and Sentries made sure that they stayed that way. But eventually, the same death that we were sure would strike the Old Republic found us._

And then, as always, the words stopped. Cale always found he was silenced by what he was thinking as he wrote. The awe was too great. The Masaada had fallen to one from their own ranks, and the war that ensued completely hidden from the Rebellion and the Empire had been just as great and just as costly as any other. When the war was over, an entire star system had been eradicated of any life. Any except for Cale, and Master Tzien-Shek.

     When the words stopped and Coruscant approached, Cale left the ship under its own control, the droid brain he had named Munin, and retired to his meditation area. There he spent the rest of the hyperspace voyage deep in trance, the cloth in his hands.

-----

As Cale's ship landed, two figures in one of Coruscant's many towers spoke quickly, a rendezvous away from prying eyes and ears.

     The male of the pair said, "The odd one has landed here. You must seek him out. Find out his intentions."

     "Why have the Masters taken such an interest in this one? He has done no harm. We're not even sure he's one of us." This second person spoke in cool feminine tones.

     The male smiled underneath his hood, "We do know he is not one of us, that is why we must find him and question him. Knowledge is our best weapon, as always."

     "Very well Master." She knew that her old teacher detected the small cynicism in her voice, despite her attempts to control it. When she was younger, it had been worse. Much worse.

     "May the Force be with you," he said.

     She left without returning the nicety.

-----

Coruscant was hideous to Cale, and always had been. The lights, the sounds, they blended together into a kind of wall of ignorance and foolishness, the cultural excrement of a planet of people completely sucked into ant-like patterns for their entire existence. Layer upon layer of them, like one of those onions his Master had enjoyed eating, every layer thinking itself better than the one beneath it, or at least pitying it, and every layer blind to how much like its inferiors it was.

     A planet-wide city was a bad place to do a manhunt, despite Cale's talents. He already knew where his man was, or at least had a narrow, if general, area. But it would require descending into Coruscant, and everyone knew that as you went down the levels of this city, further away from the surface and light, the further away the denizens were from any kind of moral light. You ran into the kind of people who would see a strange face as an easy target, the kind that might have money or valuables, no matter how few. There were folks down there who would kill for the diversion… and while Cale had no doubts as to his ability to defend himself, he understood that such defenses created the kind of noise that could spook his quarry.

     He sighed. The quicker he could do this thing, the quicker he could be doing something else.

     He had landed his ship, the _Thusfar_, on one of the floating platforms that covered the planets like steel clouds, there had been nowhere else to park it, nowhere cheap, and he didn't want to seem as if he had money. But he didn't want to pay for a transport down to the surface either. Didn't want to deal with people, not after such a voyage, and not with people such as the ones he knew he would encounter. He would be tempted, and did not want to fight temptation. _Pity is unacceptable_, his Master had told him, _always. Love them, all of them, for no one is undeserving of that, but pity was the downfall of the Light in the end. We must walk the thin line between compassion and pity. It is not our place to give enlightenment-the first step is always the seeker's._ Cale would pity them, he thought, and his pity might get the best of him.

     Cale gazed lazily around the sky, correct in his assumption that no one was paying much attention to him. There wasn't anyone but a droid on the platform anyway, and even it had its back turned to him. Cale raised a comm. To his mouth, "Lock up, Munin. I'll be at least a day. If it's longer try to reach me. If you can't, go back to Tumno." There was an affirmative chirp. Munin was a droid of few words. Cale appreciated it, sometimes.

     He walked nonchalantly to the edge of the platform, and then as a matter of course, took a suicidal step off the edge. It was half a dozen kilometers to the ground, and Cale felt truly happy for the first time since his arrival about coming to Coruscant. Say what he would about the place, the canyons formed by the city were simply amazing, some better than the ones he had grown up in. He remembered them well, using the Way just as he was now, slowing himself, directing his fall, all the way down to the surface, the wind whipping at his grinning face, until finally he landed firmly with both feet on the ground, feeling pleased. He gathered his cloak about him, and proceeded to leap from ledge to ledge, in a lazy downward fashion, stopping sometimes to get his bearings on his target.

He had tapped into the security system here briefly and illegally, finding several likely stik-houses within the area he felt Efreet to be. He wanted to hit them all before nightfall, fearing that Efreet might go someplace else to sleep. Then again, he might not. Stik-houses usually offered bedding of some sort to their more usual customers, and Cale could believe that his target would be so foolish as to commit himself to some sort of habit. They always did.

And then, in mid-leap, he felt a jolt, one so harsh that he almost lost his concentration. A hard knot of the Way, like another of his kind, sent out vibrations, ripples in the space around him. He stopped, focusing on making his signal smaller and sending out a feeler of his own, along with a warning, //Stay Away//, to whoever it might be. The knot shrank, seemed to go loose, and then disappeared altogether. He had not encountered one of these Jedi yet. He did not intend to do so.

-----

Efreet was a wiry man, emaciated by his genetics and his addictions. He threw another hundred credits at one of the stik girls, a Twi'lek who put another tightly wound rod of the synthetic fiber into his pipe and lit the end. Efreet inhaled hard and long, the end of the stik glowing brightly. _Like a star_, he thought, _like a star_. And then he was gone, leaning back on the soft cushion and watching the girl dance slowly, her movements made ethereal and otherworldly by her skill and the drug.

     Around him, a dozen other customers sat in plush intoxication. A fat Sebulan female gazed at all four of her hands in apparent ecstasy, watching the rings twinkle and sparkle in the low light. Red cloth flowed everywhere; the room was full of pillows and cushions. There were candles, many candles, full of fragrance. The girl came close, pressed something to his lips. "You want something nice? Minl give nice," she said in broken Basic. Efreet swallowed the pill, and the girl danced close, so close, and everything seemed to become and expression of smooth and soft and warm.

     Efreet never saw the man in the black cloak enter in the back, behind him. But he heard him, "I am here for Cliam Efreet, show him to me." It took almost twelve seconds for the meaning of those words to come to him, embarrassingly slow, a fact he would reflect on later. For now he only grabbed his blaster and cussed at the girl, flinging her off of himself. He stood and turned, but the man was already on him. The wrist of Efreet's gun hand was in the man's fist, and Cale dealt a savage head butt to Efreet's nose. It broke with a snap, but Efreet never felt it.

     He kicked, forcing Cale back, and fired two shots, one of which came close to hitting the bounty hunter in the face. Efreet saw Cale's face illuminated, features perhaps best described as unsoft, eyes full of savagery. If Efreet had had his wits about him, he would have thought that this was the type of man he would've thrown out of his company, too much a loner.

     There was a roar from across the room, a bouncer had arrived, a Gamorrean big even for his race. He charged into Cale, who let go of Efreet, and pushed them into the opposite wall.  Cale felt divine pain as a rib cracked, and then pushed with the Way and flung the beast across the room. Efreet would have been impressed and most likely a little scared had he seen this, but he was already out the door.

     Cale arose quickly, and suddenly the place was alive with people running all over. He took out the blaster Tumno had given him, and fired a dozen shots above their heads, they came from the barrel so fast it looked like a stream of red fire. "Down!" he screamed. "Get down."

     Cale took off after Efreet.

-----

He had botched apprehensions before. He lacked the subtlety to do it quiet, something Tumno had chastised him for. But it had been quite a time since he'd been injured doing it. Cale just hadn't seen the bouncer, and he should have. In his mind, Cale heard Tumno and Master Tzien-Shek scolding him.

     But Efreet didn't stand a chance of getting away. Cale had him squarely marked now, and was leaping above him, moving with impossible speed, the pain from his rib thumping merrily along with his heart. At last he gained up on Efreet, then got a little ahead, came to the edge of a precipice, and flipped over and in front of his target. Efreet's face registered surprise, and Cale thought he might have him now, but then the man did something almost comical-he threw something at Cale, something like a rock.

     Cale caught it easily, and then heard the beep of a timer. He dropped the detonator and jumped for the ledge he had flipped off of just as it went off. The blast made him blind and deaf for a second, but he had his blaster out and jumped back down. Forcing away the spots in his eyes he fired, spraying shots all around Efreet's fleeing silhouette. He couldn't be sure if any hit. Cale shook his head and-

     The jolt hit him again, this time entirely too close. Cale prepared.

-----

He looked up and down the avenue, jumped back up to the ledge, then made a series of leaps until he was on a sort of mesa made by the hollowed out shell of a building. It had been some kind of factory or refinery, smokestacks shot out in a random pattern, some a dozen meters tall, like branchless dead trees.

     Cale allowed his signature in the Way flare out, making eddies like a boulder in a stream, searching for the one following him, at the same time daring them to come to him. Broken rib or not, he could still fight, though he hoped it would not come to that. He merely wanted this person to leave him alone. It was bad enough to be on Coruscant looking for one out of billions, it was worse to have someone following you and causing distractions.

     He could feel the knot moving, blinking in and out, trying to conceal itself from Cale's insistent probes and not having much luck. To his right, to his left, behind, in front-Cale assumed they were bounding from point to point, just as he had done, assuming that he could not follow them through such a random pattern. Then it disappeared altogether, and then-

     "Dark Jedi?"

     The voice came from behind him, atop a smokestack, perched like a bird, silhouetted against the night sky. The voice was feminine, but the dark and her cloak camouflaged the physical features.

     Cale stared up at this person in a tired, detached way. The rib hurt. Letting Efreet escape because he had decided to chase this other was a kind of self-disappointment. And now he was considering calling it all a bad idea. "I'm not here for you, and I'm not here to interfere with whatever you're doing. Leave me alone. I won't warn you again."

     "I have never seen a Sith on Coruscant. It seems like a bad place to be for them."

     "I'm not Sith."

     "You are not Jedi."

     "I am nothing to you."

     Even in the dark, he could tell she was perplexed at the answer. Cale said, "I'm leaving now. Don't follow."

     "I can't do that," she said. She leapt into the air in a flash. Cale didn't try to follow her with his eyes; they'd be useless in the night sky. He felt her though, felt her come down on a lower stack behind him, to the left.

     Cale had drawn his blaster and aimed before she'd landed both feet down. He fired six shots in a blur, the gun truly was fast, but so far away the accuracy was poor. Four struck stupidly low, gashing the stack, the other two passed along either side of it.

     Cale sensed surprise at this kind of attack, had this one been a little less experienced, she might have fallen backwards off her perch. Instead she fell forward, flipped in the air, and came down behind Cale again. She was quick, but not quick enough. Cale jumped off the rooftop, back down to the lower levels, tucking himself into the shadows.

     She came after him, sabre ignited in a cool glow, ruining her night vision, a mistake. She spoke, "Where are you?"

     Cale activated his lightsaber, a red line appeared in the shadows in front of her. "I'm right here. What do you want?" His voice was calm, conversational, but he settled into the center en garde technique. He thought she might attack. He probably would.

     She raised her weapon high and to the right of her face. "Your name, to begin with." He could see her features now, strong but delicate. In the blue light of her blade her golden skin and black eyes seemed cold, ghastly. The tattoos running across her face were prominent. They looked like lace.

     "My name is Cale Iba'Masaad. I have no quarrel with you."

     Her eyebrows raised, "The Vornskr?"

     "I have been called that." It was a nickname, from his bounty hunting. Appropriate, for his methods. Vornskrs were predators that hunted using the Way, what these people called the Force.

     Her surprise didn't last, "I must bring you to my Master. There are questions you must answer."

     "No," he said.

     She attacked.

     She made a downwards cut for his torso. Cale pushed her blade away and slashed for her legs in a spinning movement. She parried, too slow, and Cale used the Way to push her back. She somersaulted in midair, landing on her feet.

     "That all you got?" she asked. Cale made a beckoning motion with his sabre. She made a running advance, and Cale held his lightsabre's hilt towards her, blade behind him. Three blaster bolts shot out of the bottom of the hilt. This time he did see shock on her face. She deflected the first two easily. The third struck her in the hand and she dropped her sabre. She retrieved it with a simple movement, but when she turned her attention back to her opponent, there was no one there.

     No one was there at all.

-----

Cale made it back to his ship after an hour of wandering around, making sure he wasn't followed. He knew they'd find him again, the longer he was on the planet, and they'd most likely send someone more experienced than that cold-looking girl. Perhaps her Master. He wanted to scrap the mission for the time being, it wouldn't be the first time he'd done such a thing. Lay low, wait for Efreet to reemerge.

     Unexpectedly, he wanted to call Tumno.

     The thought came to him while he was repairing his wound. Tumno was the closest thing he had to a friend, a mentor who had, in some way, replaced his Master. He wanted to tell him what had happened. He couldn't, of course. He'd never told Tumno he walked the Way. Tumno had no idea he was a Jedi. He'd never lied about the fact, just never mentioned it.

     When he left Angil behind, he thought briefly about joining up with the new Jedi Order. In the end he had decided against it because he knew that their way was not his Way, the schism that had caused his sect to go to Angil in the first place would only be replayed. These new ones had no patience for anyone who used what they called the Dark side. His ways would not be understood, nor could he ever bring himself to accept theirs. Could they not see that Dark and Light were two sides of the same coin?

     As for the Sith, who were still a strong presence in the Galaxy, there had never been a question. He'd hunted Dark ones with his Master in the dead cities of Angil, and he had killed one of the Sith order out here years ago, a foolish one with more bravado than brains. That one he had regretted, which was why he didn't allow the fight tonight to escalate, killing weaklings was too easy. He could have killed her, could have easily, but instead opted for the simpler way out. His Master might have chastised him for his lack of ruthlessness, but perhaps not. It would make life impossible for him if he had the entire Jedi Order out hunting for his head.

     That had always been the middle line he'd walked, between the pure offensive of the Sith and the pure defensive of the Jedi. Sometimes the complete eradication of one's enemies was called for, violence could be, if not the only answer, the best one. _If you must kill_, his Master had intoned, _do so without second-thought or hesitation, all else is cruelty. If you cannot, then you have acted without proper knowledge of the Way and your place in it._

     But the Way was speaking to him now just as it had when he was a child, just as it had always done. It was pulling him inexorably towards his fate, and Cale knew without actually knowing that he would be forced to face the Jedi, maybe even in chains.

     He contemplated that thought for a moment, and then opened his book and wrote,

     _To follow the Way is to be chained. Though we are presented with great power and wisdom from its exercise, we are also its prisoners. As it has always been, with great power comes great responsibility and great obligation. And without doubt, great calling._

_     We must always heed the call of the Warden of the Way._

     Cale closed his book, made his decisions and his plans, and then meditated, trying to discern all possible paths he might take and their destinations. When he went from meditation to sleep, he knew what had to be done.

-----

When she emerged from her chambers, Amya Des knew what had to be done. Knew it, but was uncomfortable with it. Her "meeting" with the mysterious Force-user had gone poorly, due mainly to her own lack of discipline. How had she let him anger her? She could have drawn him out, made him tell her what she needed to know, or at least enough of it so that her Master and the council could make some sort of decision.

     She rubbed her hand absently. That was another thing. The bolts he had fired at her last night were low power, a little more intense than the ones she had trained deflecting as an apprentice, but hardly lethal. Her left hand had taken the brunt of it, and had swollen to a purple color. But what mattered most to her was that he could have killed her, but didn't.

     It seemed odd that a true Dark Jedi wouldn't jump at the chance to finish off an opponent. But if he wasn't a Dark Jedi, what could he be? One of the Light? Without any records, without any known Master, without anything beyond his name how could one simply grow up and display the skill he had? And one of the Light who hunted for bounties? That was almost a kind of joke.

     Amya entered the lift that would take her to the Council chambers, a place she had never been to in this monastery. That, perhaps, was the source of her desperation.

     The Jedi Council here was only one of dozens, maybe hundreds, across the Galaxy, sort of a loose cell organization, like the Rebellion had been in the early days. Each was capable of independent operation, and some had particular responsibilities. The one on Coruscant, the one she was about to see, differed from all the rest for the level of Jedi that sat on it. Only the Master Council had more prestigious members. And the Coruscant Council was responsible for handling all interaction between the Order and the New Republic government. To be called before such a body and given a mission…

     The lift opened, and she gazed down the long hall towards the Grand Doors. Down the walls of the hall, rectangular marble sections stood out, each engraved with the names of Jedi, old, new, dead, alive. For a moment she thought to find her name, then dismissed the impulse. In front of these sections, there stood statues of the great leaders of the past. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda stood on either side of her as she exited. Luke and Leia Skywalker, Mara Jade Skywalker, Kyp Durron, Falomiel Undgaas, and on and on.

     Halfway through, the names and statues stopped. This was space for the new heroes. Amya wondered idly what would happen with this space was covered, or if it ever would be. The Jedi and the Sith fought each other in the backdrop of civilization now, as a kind of silent agreement. The Sith wanted secrecy for their plans, and the Jedi knew that open confrontation could only harm innocents. But they fought, and died, and did so at a rate far too fast for Amya's liking. She still remembered hearing that one of her classmate's had been struck down in a duel, one apparently begun because the Sith sensed her presence. That had been the first death close to her. Now they had become so numerous that she no longer grieved as she once had. It was pointless. Grief led to anger, and anger led… well, she knew better.

     She stood in front of the doorway, waiting. When the Council wanted her, the doors would open.

-----

Tumno called in the morning.

     Munin woke Cale up with a blaring alarm, then said in his quiet, reserved voice, "Tumno is contacting us over the Holonet. I would advise answering."

     Cale got up and rubbed his eyes. His rib felt much better than it had, the bacta injection combined with his healing practices had sped his recovery along nicely. "Play it through Munin," he said.

     Tumno's face appeared in three-foot size above the holoprojector, every pore in his skin visible. "You never called to give me a status report. How goes the hunt my friend?"

     Cale sighed; he shouldn't have overslept like that. "I managed to track him to a local stik house. I didn't count on the bouncer being a Gamorrean though. He bounced me off a wall." Cale held up his arm so Tumno could see the bruise.

     If Tumno had particular concern, it didn't show. "Did you get him?"

     "I tried, but he almost nailed me with a stun grenade. By the time I came to, he was gone."

     "You haven't lost him yet, have you?"

     "No, he's still on Coruscant. I'll get him."

     "You'd better," Tumno said. "I've been doing some investigation. Informants have been talking about a possible assassination attempt on the ambassador from Vashen."

     Cale's expression said, _So?_

     "So," Tumno said, "The ambassador is due to arrive on Coruscant tomorrow."

     "You think Efreet is here to try an assassination?"

     "It's not something I'd bet on, but why take the risk?" Tumno said.

     "Alright," said Cale, "I'll do what I can." 

     "You'll bring him in is what you'll do," said Tumno.

     Cale waved away the order, "Yeah, yeah, alright. Look I'm probably not going to report in for the next few days, I want to give some real attention to Efreet. Maybe I can find out if he's on the payroll to assassinate the ambassador. NRI might give us a little bonus for that. Can't hurt our reputation, at any rate."

     Tumno nodded in agreement, "Sounds good. And if Efreet is on the payroll, chances are he's not alone. He's going to need equipment, probably quite a bit. Maybe a crew to tag along with him too. I doubt his supplier or any accomplices he might have are exactly clean and legal." Tumno smiled at the thought of more bounties.

     Cale cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. Tumno could be annoyingly narrow-minded at times. "Exactly. And aside from those things, I think I may have stepped into something big. Not bad, but big."

     Tumno frowned only slightly, he trusted Cale to keep his word. If Cale said Efreet was coming back with him, he was, even if it meant that all of them would be old men by the time it happened. "Don't let it interfere. Keep me informed." The communication ended. Tumno's face disappeared.

     Cale pulled a locked box out from underneath his bed. It was ornately carved from a black hardwood. Even the best appraisers would not have been able to place it. After all, it came from a world that was dead before it was even discovered. He held his hand over the front of the box, and used the Way to make all the tumblers click into place. He opened it, and the scent of years wafted up to him. He removed his old clothes, ones he had not worn since his time on Angil. The garb of a Masaada. A broad-brimmed hat, a dusty, rough-woven baja, tunic, boots, belt; these he set beside him. Underneath, there was another wooden locked box.

     This one he opened as he the outer box. It was not carved, though it was of the same wood. The lock was much more difficult. When he opened it, the glint of metal winked back. Master Tzien-Shek's lightsabre. And beneath this were several meta-books, comprising nearly all of the recorded history of the Jedi on Angil and the culture of the inhabitants of the planet. Including the end. It was his master's final work.

     Munin's avatar rolled into Cale's room. "Master, I am about to prepare breakfast. Is there anything you would like?" Munin never asked this question. Cale let him choose on his own. But the droid had an inkling that today was a different sort of day for it's master, and something different might be required.

     "That's alright, Munin," Cale said, "I'm not hungry this morning."

     Munin merely floated back out the door. For a droid that had barely any protocol programming in him, Munin could be sensitive.

Cale dressed, went through a few simple mental exercises, and left. He locked the ship down, and leapt off the platform to the top of a passing transport. He did this, rooftop to transport to rooftop until the middle of the day, and he was standing on a tour bus docked outside the Republican Palace.

     It rose like a mountain before him, and up, kilometers in the air, there was a single tower, a minaret spire that looked thin as a needle from his vantage. _That is where they are_, he thought, _like hawks looking over their domain_.

-----

Amya Des watched the doors open. Each was the size of a boulder, each was solid as stone, and while there was a locking mechanism to prevent them from being opened, she knew that there was no mechanism that _enabled_ them to be moved. They did it with the Force. Amazing.

     She entered and saw them sitting there, in repose. Or one of them at least, the other had his back to her, looking out the window. "Master Juren," she said, to the one sitting, "it is good to see you once more."

     "Just as good to see you," he said, red eyes large and observant. "Tell me about your encounter with the neutral one."

     Amya sat, and frowned. "It did not go as well as we had hoped, Master."

     "Did you plead with him?"

     "I tried to, Master," she said, "but I was unable to return with him here."

     Juren nodded. "I know you don't understand why you were sent on this mission, but it was necessary.

     "Many of us have felt the presence of this neutral one, a Force-user of exceptional power and reserve, neither Jedi nor Sith. As he seemed unwilling to come to us, and just as unwilling to engage the Sith, the Master Council decided to keep track of when we sensed him, and do little more. At least until he presented some sort of threat to us.

     "But as you know, the Vashen ambassador arrives tomorrow, and the trade talks between the Vashen and the Republic must go smoothly. The neutral one's arrival, so close to this event, seemed reason enough for us to send someone. Reason enough for the Master Council to send someone here, as well." Juren gestured with his head to the one staring out of the huge window that formed the rear wall of the Council Chamber.

     "I know you didn't want this mission either," Juren said, "but you were an excellent candidate. You were a fine student, excellent with a lightsabre and very intelligent. We felt that because of your age and relative inexperience," he held up a hand to stem Amya's objections to the contrary, "Relative to the neutral one, he would not see you as a threat."

     "Unfortunately he did just that, Master," Amya said. She began to explain the events of the past night. "I tracked the neutral carefully through the Bnii District, the poor part," she paused more out of reflection on bad memories than of desire for effect. Bnii, compared to some of the other subterranean ghettoes, was a kind of hell. "The neutral one sensed me. He appeared to be searching for something as well. He expressed to me that he wanted to be left alone."

     "How did he do that?" Juren asked.

     "Through telepathy," Amya answered. She continued, "I attempted to remain hidden for the rest of the time I tracked him, but I think he may have felt me once or twice. He was very powerful.

     "I tracked him to a known stik-house. The neutral entered, and a scuffle broke out. A man emerged, and after a time, the neutral did as well. He chased the man for a while, but the man managed to escape using a grenade. The neutral came very close to being seriously wounded. Unfortunately, I had become too zealous in tracking him, and he sensed me again. We confronted each other."

     Juren asked, "Did you sense an attunement to the Dark Side?"

     "No," Amya said, "I sensed virtually no leaning to either side of the Force. He seemed a true neutral, but very powerful. And he held no particular hostility to me either."

     She again continued with the narrative, "I attempted to question him, but he would only say that his intentions were no business of mine, or of the Order's, and that we should leave him alone. That we have no reason to worry. He was cryptic, but I think that is what he meant."

     "Do you believe him?" Master Juren asked.

     "I sensed no dishonesty in him. He could have been masking that, I suppose, but for some reason, I believe he has no harmful intentions on Coruscant.

     "I tried to get more out of him, but then he shot at me."

     "Shot at you? I thought you said he meant no harm," Juren said. "Why did he shoot at you."

     "That's just it. I think he just wanted to rid himself of me, try to scare me off. Now that I think back on it, I sensed nothing in the way of hostility towards me. I think he could have hit me if he wanted too, but didn't. Unfortunately, at that moment, I didn't see it as such."

     "You retaliated," Juren said.

     "I did," Amya said. "Out of fear. I know that it was wrong, but-"

     "Fear is a difficult opponent. You will master it in time," Juren smiled and patted her hand. "We all have lapses at times in our training. Obviously the outcome of the conflict was not so bad, as you are here now."

     Amya agreed, "He could have killed me, I think, but he did not. Instead he just incapacitated me, kept me from going on, and disappeared. He was… merciful."

     Juren sat back in his chair and thought upon this. The unknown man looking out the window finally spoke. "Amya Des, did you get any information about him?"

     "Yes," Amya said, feeling slightly annoyed at the way the man talked to her, "I got his name. Cale Iba'Masaad."

     At this the man turned around and flung back his hood, face puzzled, "The Vornskr?"

     Amya had her answer out before she realized who she was talking to, "Yes, I checked, and his ship is registered as-" She took a good look at the face of whom she was speaking to. She'd passed his statue in the hall. "Master Durron! Forgive me, I did not know it was you!" She fell into a bow, down on one knee.

     Durron only said, "Get up. No point in standing on formality here. And call me Kyp." He walked over and grabbed her arm, pulling her up. The Kyp Durron, whose fall to the Dark Side killed entire star systems, the most powerful of Luke Skywalker's first students, hero of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong, current Master of the entire Order! "Yeah, and a hundred other things," he whispered into Amya's ear. He'd been reading her mind and she'd never noticed. "Did you get anything else?"

     "W-well, when I pressed him for more information we had a physical confrontation."

     Kyp took a seat next to Juren. "Jedi, tell me what you think about this Cale? Does he strike you as one who would start a confrontation?"

     Amya thought back to the events of last night, "N-No," she was still a little shocked at the Master's presence, "I think I was more responsible for the battle that ensued than he was. He had the opportunity to kill me, and refused. He just wanted to be left alone."

     "Could he have clouded your thoughts? Do you have any feeling that he might have?" Juren asked.

     "No," Amya said, clearly resenting Juren's implying.

"We have no choice but to believe her, Master Juren," Kyp said. "She is the only one to confront him directly." Kyp paused, as if he was listening for something, "Besides, we'll have our chance to make our own opinions. Iba'Masaad has been scaling the wall outside for the last half hour, and he's coming here."

Amya had to hand it to Master Durron, he actually shocked Juren with the news. Her old Master stood up out of his chair, then looked around to find that he was the only one who had done so.

     Suddenly, with the help of the Force, a voice came through the door, impossibly clear and loud, "I AM CALE IBA'MASAAD, LAST OF THE MASAADA OF ANGIL. OPEN YOUR DOORS SO I MAY HOLD PALAVER WITH YOUR COUNCIL!"

     After that, there was silence. Until Kyp looked around and asked, "Well, aren't you going to let him in?"

-----

There was no immediate response from Juren or Amya, other than Juren's decision to sit back down, so Master Durron took it upon himself to start the… What had the neutral called it? Palaver? Quaint word. "I hear you!" Durron shouted through the door. "Come in and sit, if you can!"

     The door, seamless when closed, groaned. A crack appeared, running from top to bottom through its finely carved bulk. It moved, slowly and nowhere near as steadily as when the two Masters had opened it for Amya, but it moved all the same.

     Kyp nodded a sort of approval. Moving such a thing was hard, hard to make your mind believe that it was possible. Whomever it was doing this, they were more than trained, they were experienced. He motioned for the other Jedi to stay calm. It would not do if this unknown Force-user's second impression of the Jedi ended as poorly as the first.

     Amya didn't notice Master Durron's motion. She was concentrating on the door. Her powers were quite advanced for her age and experience, that was one of the few compliments given to her by Master Juren during her training, but moving that door was still beyond her. That was the point of it being there: To show the younger Knights and Masters how far they had to come yet.

     And the sight that greeted her as the doors parted was strange. Here stood the man who had challenged her in the lower levels of the city-planet, she instantly recognized his presence. He stood in dusty brown clothes, not unlike the rough cloaks of the Masters but cut differently, one arm out-stretched to focus the Force, his head bowed and face obscured by the broad-brimmed hat on his head. Tucked under his other arm was something she didn't recognize. Too thick to be a datapad, the wrong dimension to be a Holocron, yet obviously some sort of machine. Even in her state of awe she could sense the power cell in it.

     Cale was not prepared for the door. He assumed some sort of test might be required, he was sure that others would surely come, but the door was not one of the possibilities he had considered. He hoped he had followed the correct protocol. Despite hiding his signature in the Way, to display his own power, he felt it was only polite to announce his arrival. He pushed these thoughts away as he concentrated. If a breach in custom had occurred, he would deal with it later. After all, he was a stranger. If the Jedi were as understanding as they portrayed themselves to be, they would understand that.

     With a final push, more of a flair than Cale intended, the doors opened their final width with a rush, sending a resounding boom through the Council chamber.

     Cale entered.

The female Jedi was there, the one he had fought. This was also one of his deductions. He assumed she would report to someone, and that they would report to this Council. That she was here now was an unforeseen blessing of the Way. She could attest to his mercy.

     He walked to the center of the Council, and kneeled, head bowed, wondering why there were only three Jedi and nine chairs available. "I humble myself before the presence of your honorable Masters and Knight. I come forth of my own will and of the Will of the Way which I serve."

-----

"How is it that your Sect came into being?" Juren asked. Cale was seated, as they all were. Amya was closest to his right side, where she had noticed he carried two lightsabres, one carved so intricately that at first she thought it was some kind of ornamentation, until she really looked at it. Two dragons, tails entwined around the hilt, each with its mouth open on either end of the sabre, forming the emitters. _Where did he come from_, she wondered, _where two blades-two red blades-are common?_

     "My Sect," Cale began, "the Masaada, began before the fall of the Old Republic, after the end of the Great Sith War. Then they, we, were Jedi, though from what I have learned, the Jedi back then had little resemblance to as they are today. They were strict, most led lives that were… sheltered by the Order. Many did roam as guardians, but most were like monks.

     "After the Sith War, everything began to change. Authority began to come less from the monasteries and more from the Jedi Council itself. They began to worry about how to avoid another rise of the Sith. Adepts could be taken only as infants, separated from their families their entire lives. Knights were forbidden to marry, to have families and to hold positions in society beyond the Order. These changes came swiftly, and apparently they were welcomed-the entire Galaxy had suffered because of the Sith, and no one wanted them to return."

     Juren nodded, "I've done a lot of research about that time. The monasteries gave up what power they had almost immediately. They acted like they were-"

     "Afraid," Cale finished.

     Juren appeared uncomfortable with the term, "Perhaps wary. It would depend on your point of view."

     Kyp listened, silent, waiting for Cale to start again. There were theories that stated just that, that the Order had acted largely out of fear and had over-reacted because of it. The same theories held that because of these changes, the eventual downfall of the Order had been sealed centuries before it occurred.

     "Even though most of the Order stood behind the change, there were a few who opposed them. One of these was named Tzien-Sun Masaad, a Master who sat on the High Council. He had fought in the Sith War, and led an army of Knights from his monastery into battle. He objected to the reforms from the time they were proposed until after they were ratified. He was even removed from the Council for it, or so our histories say." Cale took a pause, and Kyp flashed a glance at Juren, asking a silent question.

     "Our history is incomplete," said Juren. "The Empire destroyed much of it. Some survived, but was hidden during the Purge. I don't have any knowledge of the objections to the Reform, but I suppose that some did."

     "And our history may have some embellishments," said Cale. "A lot of time has passed since then, and like you said, it would depend on your point of view.

     "Tzien-Sun's objections began to separate himself from the majority of the Order while at the same time, he gained a following, mainly his past students from the monastery."

     Amya stopped Cale, "What exactly were his objections?"

     Cale bowed his head in thought. Master Tzien-Shek had drilled into him a dozen of them, complete with all the arguments. Cale himself had found a dozen more on his own wandering through the Archives. He couldn't go through them all in a day. He trimmed his answer as much as he could. "Master Tzien-Sun's objections pretty much followed the argument that to deny the emotions that were in every Jedi was to become ignorant to their power. Every Jedi feels the temptation of the Dark Side, and it comes in more ways than anyone can count, but its weapons are always the emotions.

     "He believed that the emotions should be indulged and explored, in the hope that they could be mastered. Without knowledge of their emotions, he argued, Jedi would not know how to overcome them, and would not know how to use the potential power that they had."

     Juren interjected, "It became the opinion of the Order that emotions, and the power they could provide, were the surest way to the Dark Side."

     "But Master Tzien-Shek believed that such emotion sprang from the Way, from the Force, and had no color, provided they were overcome and made into something that could be safely controlled.

     "Without knowledge of love, hate becomes an abstract thing, but think of the power of love. A parent's touch, the warmth of a family… these things, Master Tzien-Sun believed, were a connection that a Jedi had to the rest of the sentient beings in the Galaxy. Jedi could gain powers that made them almost like gods, but without empathy and compassion, they could not understand or relate to those they were sworn to protect, and without knowledge of the darker emotions, they could not protect themselves or others as well from them.

     "Everyone has a Dark Side, but Jedi must be vigilant with theirs, since they can do the most damage with it. Master Tzien-Shek believed that the struggle with the dark within had to be continuous, otherwise the inner light would never be as strong as it could potentially be."

     Kyp said, "But the trials ensure that. It's a good point, but even now Jedi are expected to face the Dark Side."

     "Once," Cale said, "once. They face their inner darkness only once for sure. That makes all the difference. But you should know how much stronger Jedi becomes after facing it and winning."

     Kyp considered this, while Amya vocalized what he was thinking, "It is true. Master Luke was barely even an apprentice when he faced his father on Bespin, but he held his own. Almost won, or so the stories go."

     "But to act out of emotion is the Dark Side," Juren said, "That has been a cardinal rule for as long as there have been Jedi."

     "Why?" Cale asked. "Because it's quick? Powerful? Dark and light come from the individual, not the Way. Everything a Jedi knows can be used for evil. The lightsabres we carry can defend and destroy.

     "A Jedi should act rationally, but there are times when rationality cannot win and a Jedi must. If one uses the passion they have to protect the weak to destroy a foe that would destroy the weak, is that evil, is that of the Dark Side?"

     "No," Amya said, "Not exactly. The ends do not justify the means. If destroying this foe meant hurting innocents, then it would be wrong."

     Cale flashed his smile again, a nice broad grin, "Why didn't you confront me before last night?"

     "What?" Amya asked.

     "You could have caught me on the landing platform, or in any of the places I searched, but instead you waited until I was alone. Why did you do that?"

     "I didn't know what you would do. Others might have gotten in the way."

     "You kept away until I was alone so that innocents would not be hurt, right?"

     "Yes, I suppose."

     Cale spread his hands as if showing her something. She realized it was proof to his argument. That was exactly what she had done. What she had been trained to do.

     "I don't see what that proves exactly," Juren said. "She still attacked, out of fear."

     "Perhaps, but I did show the first sign of aggression."

     "To get away."

     "And to do who knows what to whom. She did attack, and it was out of fear, or worry, or whatever, but she needed answers from me. I believe that if she had defeated me, she would have shown mercy. I could have told her what I'm telling you now, and that would have been enough."

     "That's not exactly conclusive," said Juren.

     Cale turned to Amya quickly. "If a child misbehaves, do you shoot it with a blaster?"

     Amya was so put off by the straight face the query was delivered that she stumbled for a moment on the answer, "N-No, no, of course not."

     "No, you wouldn't, because it would be too much force. So would a Jedi hacking an opponent to pieces when the entire conflict could be avoided. That is the Dark Side. But a Jedi should have more than one weapon at their disposal, and should be able to choose one to fit the situation."

     Juren didn't have an answer to that. "Well," Kyp said, "You made Juren speechless. I haven't seen that done in a while."

     "I'm complimented," Cale said. Amya smiled. "But this has nothing to do with the story of my sect."

     He started again, "Master Tzien-Sun's objections fell on deaf ears, or unwilling ones, but he and his followers became ever more vocal, and the Order started to oppose them just as loudly. He could see that the conflict was more or less at a stalemate, and would only get worse until it became violent. Despite his beliefs that the Order was wrong, he didn't want to see the Order at war with itself. So he left. He gathered together all of his students and their resources, and found a system in the Unknown. They bought ships and supplies and left."

     "And the Order just let them go?" asked Kyp.

     "No," Cale said, "the Order didn't have much choice. Master Tzien-Sun's followers were everywhere in the Order. They wiped the records of the system from the Archives, as well as their own records."

     "How did the Jedi get the funds to do such a thing without the Republic knowing?" Amya asked.

     Juren answered her, "In the Old Republic, at the time Cale is speaking of, the Jedi held professions aside from their normal duties as Jedi."

     Cale nodded, "The Jedi supported themselves, though after the Reforms, they relied on the Republic. Another form of isolation."

     Kyp interrupted, "Where did your sect go?"

     "The system they fled to was called Angil, or that was what they named it. They found a habitable planet with natives, and put their fleet in orbit," said Cale.

     "The planet was called Turin by the natives. The Turinese were primitive but civilized, and had a hundred city-states on the planet, all overseen by a Monarch. They were human, or human enough, and accepted the Masaada on the condition that they never step foot on the planet except to trade. We agreed. The ships were turned into a kind of station, and we had regular trade: they'd give us food and raw materials, and we'd give them technology and would use our healers to help the sick.

     "We didn't want on the planet anyway. The nomad tribes who were responsible for commerce between the city-states were in a constant state of war over trade routes. We offered to settle things, and the Monarch refused. The subject was never brought up again. We'd fled the Order to live as we chose, we weren't about to enforce cultural change on another planet.

     "Years passed, and the ruling Monarch eventually saw allowed us a settlement on the planet. We called it Moaga'dashim, Turinese for 'City of Heaven'. Even the nomads signed peace treaties with us.

     "As the centuries went on, more and more of us filtered down to the planet. The Masaada were never very concerned with hierarchy, and our philosophy was so deeply ingrained that it wasn't necessary to reinforce it. We inter-married with the Turinese. Had children. Held professions. Became part of their society. When adepts appeared, they were brought to the station to be trained.

     "But eventually a schism did occur. Our Masters heard the cry of the Jedi during the Purge. Many of the younger Masters and Knights left, against the counsel of the elders. None returned. By the end of the Purge though, we had our own problems."

     "How many of you were there?" asked Amya.

     "By our best estimate, maybe  five hundred thousand, on a planet of a billion inhabitants. Most Masaada stayed away from each other, crossing paths only when the Will of the Way brought them there. After the Purge, perhaps no more than half that."

     "And what happened after the Purge?" Juren asked.

     "One of us, a great Master named Horuk, fell to the Dark Side, after his family was lost in a sandstorm. No one knows his entire story, so I can't tell you, but he was among the greatest of our number.

     "When he fell, he also disappeared, and we were never able to locate him. Rumor was that he fled into labyrinths in the northern part of the planet. When he finally did reappear, a century later, right about the time of the Purge, he was stronger than ever, and had an army of Sith behind him."

     Cale's entire demeanor shifted as he went on. His head lowered, his voice became quiet and soft. "The war that followed, between the Masaada and the Horuka, lasted years. It was fought in the open, in the middle of cities at times. The Way had not called me into life yet, and so I cannot tell you exactly what happened, but it was horrible. Neither side seemed able to win, and every victory came at the cost of thousands of Turinese and hundreds of Masaada. The planet lay in ruin, the station was empty. Eventually, the war became Masaada and Horuka hunting each other in destroyed cities. Even this left us without victory.

     "When my Master, Tzien-Shek, found me, already using the Way to move across the canyons and find food, he was the only Masaada left. My training was spent running from dead city to dead city, escaping from the Horuka that we could, and destroying those we could not. When I became old enough, I fought as well. We hunted them across the planet until there were no more to hunt.

     "Horuk stole something though, a talisman of Master Tzien-Sun's, a kind of battery. I do not understand what exactly it was, but legend said that it had his essence in it. My Master and I chased him underneath Moaga'dashim, into the tunnels. When we finally found him, we saw he had built a ship from scrapped parts. My Master and Horuk fought, and my Master was wounded very badly, but managed to recover the battery. He told me to flee in the ship and go to the station, and then to use one of their shuttles to return to the Known Galaxy. I did what he wanted, but I did not do it easily.

     "When the ship was docked at the station, I think that my Master tapped the battery. The explosion was large even from orbit. Moaga'dashim became a glowing crater." Cale stopped, his hat hiding his face again. When he looked up, he was holding the ornate lightsabre in his hand.

     "This is my Master's. He said that all of our philosophy was represented in our lightsabres. Our blades are red, because of our passion. But our sabers can kill or stun, because we do not kill when we do not have to, nor do we stun when we must kill."

     There was a long time before anyone said anything, anything of importance, at least, in Amya's eyes. Master Durron appeared to be in deep thought. Cale allowed Master Juren to examine his lightsabre, though not that of his Master.

     Master Juren looked it over eagerly, but respectfully, showing the care that Cale obviously expected. Cale relented to let him take notes on the design. Amya heard him whisper into a recorder, "… handspan longer than most… can emit two blades, but only one at a time… stun blasters with internal trigger… locking mechanism internal…" while Cale slowly explained to him all the functions. Juren was always the archivist, the recorder of facts.

     Finally, Master Durron asked, "Why did you become a bounty hunter, Cale? We would have accepted you in our Order."

     Cale took a long time to answer. It was a question he had expected, one he had thought would be asked some day, but not so soon. "When I came here, back to the Known, I had nothing. My ship was ancient. I didn't even speak Basic. My Master had taught me Old Galactic, since that was the language of our Archives, but we always conversed in Turinese. I am Turinese, you see. I caught on quick to Basic, that and the Old Galactic are so similar…" he realized with a bit of shame that he was stalling, stalling in front of people who were his Masters, and heard Tzien-Shek's scolding, playful reproach in his mind to get on with it. "I had nothing, was no one. I met someone who wanted to get into the business but couldn't do it himself. He had the technical know-how and social skills, and I had the ability. It was steady work, since the New Republic legalized it. I did consider seeking out the Order, but the Way led me elsewhere. The ways of my sect are hard to lose, and I would not want to lose them, and they are not the ways of your Order at all. Besides, my loyalty belongs only to the Way and the Masaada. If I was or am meant to join you any more than this alliance, the Way will show me the signs."

     "I want to ask you something," Kyp said. "You call the Force the Way. Why is that? What are the signs you're looking for?"

     Cale's mood seemed to lighten at this, "The Masaada call it the Way because we must follow it to reach our enlightenment. When a Masaada has become a true Master, their will is identical to the Will of the Way. Their wants and the wants of the universe are the same, and even they can't tell the difference."

     "And the signs? What are those?" Amya asked.

     "The signs are what the Way gives us to show what we must do. They can be anything, and they are everywhere, you only have to learn to read them. When you confronted me last night, it was a sign to do this. I didn't realize it immediately, as my Master might have, but I did later."

     "How long have you read these signs?" She asked it on a whim, idle curiosity. She did not sense any lightness in his answer.

     "My Master said I was different from any other. I have read the signs, I have heard the Way, since the moment I was born."

     Amya shivered in spite of herself.

-----

_Cliam_.

     He stirred, rolled over. Grumbled.

     _Cliam._

     A muttered response, "Wha? Mmmph…"

     _Cliam, you have not forgotten what you must do, have you?_

     Cliam saw lightning lash out at him from a dream. He jerked, tried to wake, and found he could not. The voice, _Cliam, do not make me punish you. You must not forget why I have sent you._ Cliam looked around in his dream, he felt cut off, lost in impenetrable dark, inky black slime wanted to stick to his skin. Then he saw red eyes open, and the lightning came again.

     The scream reverberated through the cheap room.

-----

Cale walked with Kyp. At the suggestion of the Master, they were taking the normal way down, though Cale had been perfectly willing to leave the way he had arrived.

     "You are someone of interest to us, Cale," he said.

     "So I've been told, Master."

     "I sense emotion in you, of the magnitude that we usually try to weed out of ourselves. How do you manage to keep them from influencing your decisions? From walking the Way?"

     Cale sighed. These people were so hung up on emotions, why couldn't they understand what every Masaada apprentice knew. Emotions are gifts from the Way, they are the _caaba_, the walking stick. "My emotions do influence my decisions, but only so far as I allow them. A Masaada's emotions stem from the love and compassion they have for those around them."

     "But one could argue that with love, one opens themselves to hate," Kyp said.

     Cale nodded, "One does. I hate, but I do not allow my hatred to rule me. It is another strength. I love, but love does not decide all. Emotions provide direction and power, but only when focused and needed immediately."

     "You really should come with me back to the Praxaeum. The things you could teach us would be…"

     "Scrutinized?" Cale inquired, "Studied? Inferred from? Catalogued and turned into a dusty archive. Your Order is great, but its doctrine has been settled. I would only upset things."

     "You talk like we're completely different from the Masaada. We marry, we love."

     "You marry only within the Order. We married whomever we wanted. You are Jedi, but you take no part in society aside from being Jedi. Think of how things would have differed during the Vong invasion, if the public didn't know you just as Jedi, but as people who worked beside them, doing what they did. Those who follow the Way can't insulate themselves from the rest of the world, not like that."

     "But still…"

     "You still miss the fundamental rule," Cale said, forcefully but without anger. Kyp had not been gently scolded in some time. "Tzien-Sun prophesized the downfall of the old Order would come from their abstinence of even studying the Dark. It was his belief that when the Jedi managed to repress their emotions and eliminate the temptation of Darkness completely, their ability to use the Way at all would disappear."

     "The Loss," Kyp said, "Just before the rise of the Empire. But no one knows what caused the Loss, not for sure."

     "The Way is balance. There must be a light and a dark, one can't exist without the other. The struggle that goes on in the universe is mirrored by the struggle that goes on inside all of us. The Dark must be mastered just as the Light, otherwise all is lost."

     There was silence again. Kyp would reflect later how much of the conversation had been made up of silences, pauses between weighty statements. Finally, Cale handed him the other object he had carried with him into the chambers. "This," Cale explained, "is a meta-book. In Turinese culture, books were important. This is one made better. It is the history of the Masaada, much better than what I have told you here. Our ways and techniques can be learned too."

     Kyp opened it to the first page, the first of maybe three hundred. It had the sturdy feel of parchment, but also seemed to have something delicate about it. At first he didn't understand why the page was blank until something in the book switched on with a nearly imperceptible vibration. Text, careful calligraphy, rose to the page like smoke. As Kyp flipped through the nest few pages, he found pictures, drawings, all as fine and as simple as some of the ancient documents found at the Jedi Praxaeum. "This is something different," Kyp said.

     Cale agreed with a motion of his head. "It's as close to perfection as any Masaadic invention. A photovoltaic process recharges the power-cell, so whenever you read it, the light that you use charges the battery. The same thing happens when you turn a page. It requires so little power to maintain itself that it could conceivably last forever. And every book has the capacity to store dozens of volumes in its inactive memory. This was our answer to the Holocron."

     Kyp read the first lines, "Did you translate this?"

     "I did, a long time ago. It was my Master's last work. He left a message for me on the station that if I found that the Jedi had changed their ways, that I should give them this, so they could know what happened to their lost brothers."

     "Do you have any more?"

     "I took the entire library from Angil. It was mostly complete. I got them to fit on as few books I could, a little under a thousand, and brought those here. Technology has made a few leaps since the original books, so I made new ones, and transferred the old books to the new. There's forty-seven of them now. All the information the Masaada would need to begin again."

     Kyp whistled to himself. This truly was impressive. "With that much knowledge, you wouldn't need to come to the Praxaeum. You could just deliver the books to us. We'd be busy for centuries."

     "You would. That's the only one I've translated. I'm not doing anymore."

     "But what if something happens to you? The books-"

     "The books will go from myself to my apprentice, if I find one. If not, then I will hide them. The Masaada will survive, but I have no intentions to give them to the Jedi. Not now."

     Kyp took the matter to be settled. Cale wasn't going to budge from this, just like anything else he had his mind set for. Best to just change the subject and move on. "I am thankful for the gift, then."

     "You're welcome."

     "Is there anything else that you wish from us? Something in return for this?" He held up the book.

     Cale thought for a bit, "I came here hunting for a bounty, the one I lost when Amya found me. If you could help me track him down, it would be appreciated."

     "We don't usually take part in bounty operations. But, if that is what you wish, we'll help you any way we can. What is his name?"

     "Cliam Efreet. He was part of the Resurrectionist Movement."

     Kyp's eyes widened. "He's here? On Coruscant?"

     "Yes," Cale said, uncertain as to where the Way was bringing him now.

     "Cale, this is…" Kyp looked around suddenly. "Come with me."

     They walked in silence for a long time, Cale's curiosity boiling for the entire journey. Kyp took him down passage after passage, until even Cale got disoriented as to where they were in the monastery. They emerged into a kind of foyer, dominated by a huge fountain in the center of the room, above which hung the crest of the Jedi Order.

     There was a small child, an adept, playing in the fountain. Kyp shooed him away, sending a small puddle of water leaping after the child, who ran laughing through a corridor. When the door shut behind him. Kyp locked it. Cale, seeing all this, understood the purpose of the fountain: it would foil any listening bug that might be in the room. But why would a Jedi Master worry about that? Who could bug this place?

     Cale sat with Kyp at the edge of the fountain. Kyp said, "The man you're after, Efreet, is not what he seems to be. The bounty placed on him was made by the Jedi Order. Most of the accusations against him are false. It's the Order that wants him."

     "So he's not an assassin?" Cale asked.

     Kyp shook his head, "Oh, he's an assassin, but more recently just a murderer. Whatever his skills as a commando may have been, now he's little more than an over-educated thug for hire. He's dangerous, and those assassinations are real, but we know it was him. He was exceptionally sloppy. The inflated bounty and the doctored reputation was to make sure that only the finest of bounty hunters came after him."

     "You may have gotten a lot of amateurs too," Cale said. Obviously the Jedi didn't know too much about bounty hunting. Real hunters, the professionals, didn't think about how much a bounty was worth. In the end, it didn't matter. Every bounty could be your last, no matter what the payout was. What they really looked at was the profile of the mark. If they could find something they thought they could exploit, like Cale had with Efreet's addiction to stik, then they would see about it, pursuing it in the most cautious of ways. That high bounty would just attract the lambs who wanted to jet around the Galaxy blasting things. It was a wonder that Cale hadn't run into any yet.

     "We did, but we weeded them out in the application process." The Republic did have an application process for bounties, that was true, but most thought it was mere formality. "We don't know much about bounty hunting, but we did know who to ask."

     Kyp carried on, "The story behind Efreet is somewhat more serious than what his dossier says. He was the star of Offsen's Brigands, the commander's personal favorite. Until they had an incident in the Corona Nebula. We've only got the barest idea as to what went on out there, the records we captured weren't near complete enough. But they encountered something out there, or at least Efreet did, that made him lose it.

     "According to his peers, Efreet never even drank, but after the Corona Nebula, he moved from one drug to another, finally becoming so addicted to stik that he was ousted from the unit. From what we've learned, he was complaining about chronic nightmares.

     "What he's been doing lately is smuggling. He's been contacting people all over, and moving supplies, killing other smugglers to get their ships. But we don't know for whom or where he's taking the cargo."

     "What's he been smuggling?" Cale asked.

     "Bacta incubators, growth accelerants, genetic inhibitors and modifiers. Basically the things you'd need to start cloning."

     "So he's trying to clone, that sort of thing goes on every day," and it did. Cloning had been outlawed for years, but there was still a market for it. Usually it was something mildly sordid, businessmen looking for pleasure slaves, something like that. Cale had hunted a very wealthy shipwright who despised Twi'leks so much that he cloned five that he tortured and killed.

     "It's not that. It's the amount that he's moving. New Republic Intelligence cracked an illegal assembly station, one that we connected Efreet to, and found a bacta incubator half built in there big enough to hold a couple of E-Wings. They'd already gotten one to Efreet though."  
     "What could he want to clone that would be that big?" asked Cale.

     Kyp shrugged his shoulders. "We don't know for sure. When we opened up the navicomp on the ship that was supposed to carry the incubator, there were coordinates leading to the Corona Nebula. But the NRI team that went there didn't find anything. No contact, no ship waiting for a trade-off. Nothing.

     "But it has been theorized, by more than one person, that certain Yuuzhan Vong genetic cultures could have been found, and that someone could be using the smuggled equipment to breed a batch of them. Have you ever seen Vong ships in action?"

     "No, just holovids."

     "Holovids don't show the half of it. They're a hundred times more lethal than any starfighter. They eat wreckage for fuel. The ones we fought were... vicious. The Republic doesn't want to see this sort of technology in anyone's hands. We stopped doing research ourselves once we had reliable ways of destroying them."

     Cale pondered on all of this for a minute. There was something here, something important, a connection he hadn't realized yet. What had Tumno said? "Why is the Vashen ambassador coming here, Master?"

     "He's here to discuss trade with the Republic. We want to keep the Vashen from selling the bacta to the black market. If we can funnel their supply through the New Republic, it would be a boost to both our economies. Especially their's, it's been wrecked since the Vong invasion-"

     Kyp stopped, catching onto Cale, "You think that Efreet's here to make some sort of deal with the Vashen?"

     "I don't know," Cale said. "My employer thought that Efreet might be here to carry out a hit. That may or may not be true, with what you've told me. But I don't know what kind of deal he can make with the ambassador."

     "But that's just it," Kyp said. "The Vashen are factioned. Two dozen trade houses control the bacta supply. For our plan to work, we have to get all of them to sign the agreement. The ambassador is their elected representative, but each faction is also sending a representative of their own. If Efreet is here to get the support of one of them..."

     "Then he'd have a cheap supply of bacta that he could smuggle," Cale finished.

     Kyp nodded his head in agreement. "We'll have to find Efreet before the meeting then. Do you think that you could track him?"

     "I managed to find him through the Way before. I could get his general location again. We'd still have to go and search ourselves."

     "Do that then," Kyp said. "I'll call the Jedi to help us."    

     Cale snapped with, "No!" Kyp looked surprised. Cale paused, "Don't. The more people you notify of this the more likelihood there is that Efreet is going to get spooked. If he's on Coruscant, he's in the lower levels. People there are going to notice a bunch of Jedi coming through. If you need to call someone, call Amya and Juren. Between you, me, and them, we should be able to find him."

     Kyp agreed, and went to the far side of the fountain to make the call. Cale sat on the floor, cross-legged, and entered into his trance. _There is no I, there is the Way; There is no I, there is the Way_... his words, whispered just barely loud enough to be audible, pounded through his mind, silencing all other thoughts. He felt himself sinking back, falling into the primordial flow of the Way, losing the individuality of his emanation. And then he listened for Efreet.

     "Master Durron," he said. His breathing had become so shallow that what he intended has a yell was only a whisper. He was not worried about it. This was probably just a minor setback, his emotions interfering. Cale entered the trance as deeply as he could, and tried again. It was then he encountered an answer that was as undeniable as it was unsettling. He emerged from the trance with a snap, and really did yell. "Master Durron!"

     Kyp was at his side already, waiting. Cale looked at him, eyes still a little hazy from the trance. "I can't find him. Something, someone, is blocking him from me."

     Kyp looked at him, questioningly. "What do you mean?"

     "Something is blocking me. Covering him up." Kyp understood before Cale even said anything. It wasn't such a hard deduction to make. If Cale couldn't find Efreet's imprint on the Force, that meant that someone was using the Force to cover it. The Jedi wouldn't do that, most of them didn't even know of Efreet's importance. Efreet, even if he was Force-sensitive, wouldn't have the training to do it himself. That left only one other possibility. And Cale said it, though it was only redundant to do so. "It's a Sith, Master Durron. There is a Sith on Coruscant, and he's helping Efreet."

-----

They were assembled by the next morning. Amya still looked a little groggy after being roused from her sleep. Master Juren and a new member, introduced as Nils Crop, a Jedi Knight just done with his training, joined them. At first introduction, Cale wondered at what kind of help Crop would be. That was, until Nils began talk about the likely trade houses within the Vashen that would be most willing to talk with Efreet. Crop had been nearly completed with his training when he had decided to leave the Diplomatic Corps and join the Jedi. His specialty had been interspecies relations with a focus on Galactic economics.

     "The nin'Pek and nin'Jen are the primary obstruction in the talks. They've expressed a dislike of the Republic that borders on open aggression. Not too surprising, considering that all of the Vashen are possessed with a good xenophobic streak. They're the reason why it's taken so long for the talks to even occur. And it was their idea to have them on Coruscant."

     "That's a little odd, for xenophobics," Kyp remarked.

     "It looks like it, but the Vashen mindset seems to believe that it is the best course if talks are must happen," Nils explained, "Their territory is three star systems, all of which are very close to one another, maybe a light-year between any of them at the furthest point. All the planets are very well settled, and three of them could be their homeworld. We don't know for sure, because they won't let the Republic to come into the systems. It's their hope to protect the location of their homeworld at all costs. That's why one of their conditions for trade is the construction of a station in deep space on their border, at the New Republic's expense, of course."

     "How very diplomatic," Amya said. Juren flashed her a glance warning her to keep the cynicism to a minimum. Cale saw his eyes though, and knew he was thinking the same thing.

     "That's all good information, Jedi," Kyp said, "But which groups are most likely to trade with smugglers if the talks fall through?"

     Nils looked a little puzzled at the question, as he had when he'd seen Cale. He hadn't yet been told why he'd been called in. "Well, that's very hard to say. The trade houses switch alliances constantly. It seems that they distrust one another only marginally less than they distrust us. If I were to wager a guess though," Nils paused, "I would say that nin'Pek would be most likely. They hold a coalition with nin'Jeer and nin'Kai, two smaller houses who want to escape from taking sides in galactic politics by trading with whomever."

     "That's the best sense economically," Cale said. His knowledge about economics was minimal, but he felt confident about the statement.

     "It is," Kyp said, "or should be. But the deal with the New Republic means that the Republic would be able to trade materials needed to rebuild the Vashen systems in return for their bacta variant. In addition, the Republic will pay a tariff on top of that equipment at about twenty percent, in _cash_, for the next three years. All in all the Vashen stand to make a lot of money."

     "At least over the next three years," Juren said. "And the Republic isn't doing this as a charitable act either. The deal means that they would be the only authorized dealers of the bacta variant, and so they would be entitled to a cut of the profits from its sale."

     There was some small talk between Juren and Nils about political things, but Cale largely ignored it. He was preparing himself for the battle ahead. Politics seemed so excruciatingly slow to him, though he recognized the purpose, and the futility that came from trying to get everyone to play nice with each other. _Politics is the system of the least evil_, Master Tzien-Shek had said, perhaps quoting some earlier Masaad philosopher, perhaps not, _There is never an answer gained from politics that is 'good' in the sense we want it to be, only answers that are less evil than others_. Tzien-Shek may have been a pessimist, but Cale thus far had little reason to doubt that aphorism.

     Besides, he really did have a lot to think about. Though no one had been assigned any tasks, he felt the tasks assigning themselves to the others. Kyp's would be to serve as a relay station, coordinating their efforts. Juren and Amya would be the foot soldiers, the grunts in the operation. They'd probably have the least responsibility, but that was a two-edged sword. With the least responsibility came naturally the least knowledge as to what was going on. Cale knew he'd join them in that position too, but for now his job was to figure out some sort of tactical plan for the others to follow. He was the natural for this; after all, this was his job.

     And he had his work cut out for him. The summit would happen in Liberator Stadium, a massive open-air structure built on top of the wreckage of a Star Destroyer. It was an excellent choice, Nils had explained, as almost all the Senators and diplomatic staff from the New Republic, and all the trade houses and their staff would be able to attend and view the talks in progress. Better than that, also according to Nils, was that the open-air was a play on the Vashen psyche, as most of their religious centers were built like the stadium, though on a much smaller scale. Hopefully, this would make them feel more familiar with the Republic.

     What was bad about this, especially to Cale, was that all those diplomats and heads of state meant that each would be bringing their own set of attaches, bodyguards, interns, assistants, assistants to the attaches, and so on. Liberator Stadium could seat 100,000; and the word was it was going to be close to full for this. That many people would make picking out one that much harder especially without the aid of the Way. What was worse was that they had to be quiet about it. A whole army of Jedi looking through the crowd would be nice, and according to Master Durron very possible, but the Sith would see it in a second. Cale knew that he would.

     The plan Cale had so far was simple, and thus had a good chance at working. Master Durron, Master Juren, and he would occupy positions at three of the four corners of the Stadium, centering themselves as well as possible so that they looked at the main doors. In a last minute switch in the guard detail, Master Durron had Amya replace one of the other Jedi who would guard the main podium, where the Republic and Vashen ambassadors would be speaking. Once they were in place, the plan was to try and find Efreet with their eyes (though Cale, Kyp and Juren would have the aid of macrobinoculars). They would then try to abduct Efreet in the most inconspicuous way possible. If the Sith revealed himself, then he'd be dealt with then, as much as Cale preferred otherwise. Sith don't generally think of bystanders when they're fighting. Hopefully, they could question Efreet about the Sith, and get the answer from him, so they could deal with it on their own time.

     But Cale knew that no matter what their plans were, they could find them completely put asunder. It had been decided that Efreet would do whatever he was going to do at Liberator Stadium, as that would be the only time both the ambassador and the trade house representatives would be present, and also the only time during their visit that anyone aside from the Guards and servants at the Senate Palace would have access to them. But he could just as easily try something before, or after, when they left, or even while the representatives were being transferred to the Stadium. Cale thought the chances were remote, considering the security forces, but you never knew.

     Nils finished his talk, and added, "I know that I have no right to question you, Masters, but I am curious as to why you have requested this information. Is there something wrong with the talks?"

     Kyp peered into the young Jedi's mind quickly, unobtrusively. He saw nothing more than curiosity, nothing more. The Jedi was a diplomat through and through. These trade talks fascinated him, and he was asking the way children asked after their favorite Holonet show. "The talks are fine, we just thought it would be helpful to know a bit more about them." Not a lie, not a half-truth, but an obscure truth. Kyp had always disliked the many obscure truths that the Jedi had to say when he was an apprentice, and he always felt a twinge of loathing when he found himself resorting to them.

     Nils appeared sated, but Kyp knew he wasn't. The Jedi would obey regardless, though. At times Kyp wished the younger members of the Order were more headstrong.

     As Nils turned to leave, Cale called out, "Wait. Stay a bit longer." Cale turned to Kyp; "We may have some use for him still. Another pair of eyes."

     Kyp asked the question with his expression, _I thought you wanted to keep this quiet, why should we bring another?_

     "Sometimes the Way delivers allies," Cale said. He looked back to Nils. "Jedi, were you trained in the Diplomatic Corps about the Vashen?"

     Nils shook his head, "No, the talks didn't even begin until right before my trials for knighthood. I've been studying the Vashen as a kind of hobby, I guess."

     Cale turned to Kyp, "How did you select this Jedi to come here?"

     "You said you wanted someone who could explain the Vashen to us. Jedi Crop had a background in diplomacy, and was nearby."

     "You knew nothing about his hobby?"

     "No," Kyp said, wondering where Cale was going with this. "There was three others that I thought might be of some use, but Crop was the best." Nils smiled briefly at the compliment.

     Cale smiled a little too, satisfied with something Kyp couldn't decipher. "He comes with us then. To cover the fourth corner of the Stadium."

     Juren spoke, "But he's barely past the trials."

     "Amya is only a year more experienced than he is," Cale said, "If he can mask himself and not be noticed, then he's another set of eyes, and we need them."

     "But you said we shouldn't include others on this, not now," Amya said. She couldn't grasp Cale's thinking either.

     "We shouldn't. But we should not ignore the Way. This one was brought to us for a reason, I am confident of that. There is a purpose he must serve." Cale had that set look in his eyes, that emotionless stare he had when he was talking about his Way. Amya couldn't even think of another objection looking at that.

     Nils asked, "Excuse me, Masters, but what is going on here."

     Cale said, "They'll explain it to you on the way. Right now Amya and I are going to my ship, I have something for her."

-----

Munin had brought the _Thusfar_ from the landing pad it had sat on since Cale had arrived to the hanger in the monastery. What surprised Amya was that it was such a pretty ship, full of graceful lines along the wings and main fuselage. It reminded her of a bird landing, wings forward and outstretched. Cale had painted the hull in a strange pattern of silver, red, and brown hues. It fit the ship, somehow, and Amya realized at last that she wasn't the only one who was reminded of a bird when she saw it.

     She asked Cale, "What's the species?"

     Cale looked at her, not sure if he had heard right, "Excuse me?"

     "You painted it after a bird, right? It's built like a bird, so you painted it like one."

     Cale grinned. Amya thought he might have been close to a chuckle. "That's right. It's a laasa, a Turinese raptor."

     They approached the "head" of the bird, beneath the cockpit. Cale took a comlink from his belt and spoke, "Munin, al Cale Iba'Masaad et Amya Des. Inkaasa at fisa." He looked at Amya, "It's Turinese. I told Munin that we were here and to unlock the ship and disarm the defenses."

     "You armed the defenses here? We've got the security."

     "Force of habit. Besides, I've got some things aboard that aren't exactly legal here." Amya, thankfully for Cale, didn't ask what they were.

     The ramp disengaged and lowered. _The jaws of the bird_, Amya thought. Above them, floating above the main deck, was a massive droid, about a meter across at its widest point. Its lower part was a large cone shape, which housed the repulsors that let it move. There also looked like there were a dozen extendable appendages folded up in there too. The top half resembled an astromech droid's dome, except that it was gold, with a single large red eye in the center.

     "Munin," Cale said as they passed, "meet Jedi Amya Des."

     Munin paused a moment, it's eye looking up and down Amya's figure, and then said, in perfect Mirialan, "It is a great honor to meet you, Jedi Des."

     Amya smiled, "It's been sometime since I've heard the mother tongue. Is Munin a protocol droid?"

     They began to walk to the rear of the ship. Munin followed close behind. "Munin's much more than a protocol droid."

     Munin chimed in, this time in Basic, "Quite a bit more. I am first mate, ship's steward, and navigator; I also serve as the computer core and am capable of serving as ship's slave, translator, and war droid.

     Amya said nothing about this. War droids weren't legal in the Republic, but it didn't seem prudent to say so.

     The entered the first section of the cargo bay, "The Booda Mk. 6404 Far Courier had about fifty tons of cargo space. We've lost about 30 tons of that through the modifications. What's left is in two ten ton compartments." One of which they were in now. There were maybe half a dozen containers of cargo lying around, things that could be sold anywhere for a quick buck. Foodstuffs, med supplies, and the like. "The rest is my quarters, a workshop, Munin's quarters, and the holding cell."

     "Munin has his own quarters?"

     Cale opened the doors to the second compartment. "Well, it's actually a bit more than that." And it was. The second compartment was largely empty, but also bigger than the previous, shaped like a teardrop. Munin floated over to a socket in the floor, close to the corner, the point of the teardrop. He settled in with a couple of clicks and then a hum. "That's Munin's station. He can recharge himself and interact with all ship's systems. The rest of the area is mainly for me to practice in. It was the only place on the ship with high enough ceilings." There were cases of power cells and blaster repair parts here. There were two containers of concussion missile warheads, maybe fourteen warheads altogether, sitting beside their drive systems in their own containers. "Don't worry," Cale said, "they're all empty. It's just for show. All the real munitions are stored in the crawlspaces."

     They walked to the far side of this room too, Munin's red eye tracking them the whole way. Cale punched a code into a pad beside the door. "These are my quarters."

     It was a spacious room, but almost completely bare of decoration. A large mat served as a bed, above it, mounted into the wall, were forty-seven of the objects Cale had called meta-books, behind a thick pane of glass. There was a desk, littered with the parts to a half built meta-book, and several data disks, along with a reader. Amya spied the titles of several of the disks, mostly fiction, novels from several writers she'd heard about, a copy of Master Skywalker's _New Jedi Philosophy_. She thought only Jedi had access to that. She stopped her snooping when Cale said suddenly, towards the ceiling, "Munin, open the Weapons Vault."

     Floor panels on both sides of the room slid back, while jointed racks slithered up the sides of the walls, snakelike. Now Amya saw some of the things 'not quite legal' that Cale had. The rack on the left wall was dedicated completely to small arms: blaster pistols and rifles, some automatic models that had been outlawed for years. There was both a sniper blaster and a slug throwing variant, complete with various scopes and attachments. At the very bottom was a Moden Arms "Grinning Tom", a personal grenade launcher.

     The right wall rack had the more interesting things though. The top shelf had grenades, stun and frag, a few thermal detonators, and other explosives. The next had a dart launcher, various darts, and a grappling hook extension. But the lower three racks were almost entirely blades. Throwing knives and stars, sets of them; several rather mean looking daggers, and two swords. Cale explained as he was rummaging through a rack still concealed in the hole in the floor. "Most of this stuff is never used. My employer has a penchant for weapon making, so I get all of his finished projects." Amya looked again at one of the blasters and recognized the barrel shape. It was the one he had shot at her.

     Amya was back to studying the swords when Cale said, "Take off your robes."

     "What?" Amya asked.

     Cale held up the body armor. "Take off your robes so I can fit this to you."

     Amya looked a bit concerned, but did what she was told. She took off her cloak, then her belt, and then the series of vests and shirts. Finally she stood in her undershirt, feeling a little exposed. Mirialans were very modest about their bodies. Coming from such a cold climate, they exposed them rarely.

     Cale seemed to sense this. He put the armor on her, and started adjusting the straps quickly. "If you're going to be on the podium, you might as well have this. If someone tries to hurt the ambassadors, you'll have to put yourself between the threat and them."

     "I thought you said you didn't think that Efreet was here to assassinate the ambassador."

     Cale pulled another strap tight, "I don't, but I'm not sure. We can't take unnecessary risks. If something does happen and you are hurt, that's one less set of eyes and one less lightsabre."

     "That's very… logical," Amya said. _More like impersonal_.

     "It's not just that. I don't want to see anyone hurt. Looking at it logically just keeps you from getting overly emotional about the situation." He pulled the last strap, and the armor fit her, if a little too snugly in some places. "Sorry if it's a little too tight," Cale said, "It wasn't built for a female."

     Amya took a couple of deep breaths, getting used to the armor. "It's fine. Will it stop a blaster?"

     Cale pulled another, heavier set from the floor. "No. Not if it's a direct hit. It'll take some of the damage though. And it should take glancing hits no problem. Shrapnel too."

     He put on the armor, and then took a kind of vest from the floor as well. He put that on next, and started grabbing knives from the rack. The fabric of the vest was so dark that Amya didn't detect the hidden sheaths located through out it. "Why are you taking so many weapons?" she asked.

     "We don't know what we'll be facing. Could be one bad guy, could be a dozen. For all we know, all the Vashen could turn on us. So I'm coming prepared."

     "With knives and," she looked at what he was grabbing next, "pointy sticks?"

     "In a crowded area, these work best. They're quiet, they're quick, and they can incapacitate without killing. Besides, the range is poor, so if I miss, hopefully the person it does hit won't get hurt." He looked at her standing there, one hand on her hip. "Put your robes back on, let me see how that armor looks."

     She did as he said. He eyed her carefully, turning her around in circles, "Alright, I can't see it. That's good. No one will suspect."

     Cale took two stun grenades, paused, and then took a frag as well. These disappeared into his cloak. He went to the blaster rack and took a holster and the blaster Amya remembered so well, and put his cloak back on. "Can you see anything different?"  
     Amya looked hard, "No, nothing at all."

     "Good."

-----

Cale stood on top of a tall support beam, used when it rained to support the roof. Directly across from him, hidden in the roof's machinery, was Kyp. Master Durron had the best optics, since he was responsible for watching the main entrance, underneath Cale. He also had listening equipment, and could monitor all the communications going on in the Stadium. Master Juren was on Cale's right, and Nils was to Cale's left. All had small earphones and throat microphones to talk to one another. They could not risk using Force telepathy. The Sith might detect it. Cale concentrated hard, looking through his macrobinoculars and trying to keep his imprint on the Way as small as possible. The others did the same.

     The Stadium was packed, nearly all the seats taken by representatives from a thousand concerned parties. Most of the Senate was in attendance. The Prime Minister and Republic heads sat on a huge podium in the center of the Stadium's field, along with the Vashen representatives. There was no sign of Efreet yet, and Cale still could not detect him.

-----

Deep beneath the Stadium, Shish nin'Pag of the Vashen paced with his bodyguard. He was typical of the Vashen, humanoid, hairless, with webbed hands and feet. Large black eyes dominated his bulbous bald head. His mouth was a gaping maw full of ring after ring of tiny sharp teeth. And he was getting impatient. This contact of his, who promised such wealth for the Pag House, was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered. Pag House had decided to go along with the New Republic plan. They could not risk retaliation from the larger Houses that surrounded Pag holdings. Without cooperation from them, Pag could not trade.

     The air dropped in temperature suddenly. Shish looked to his bodyguard, Hsil, and saw only puzzlement. And then a voice came.

     "My treasured Vashen friend," it was a cold voice, as icy as the air had become. Shish turned quickly to see someone standing behind him, perhaps four meters away. He was tall, clothed in black, face hidden by his cowl. Shish would have sworn that the voice came from beside his tiny earhole.

     "Do not attempt flattery," Shish said, failing at sounding unafraid. "It will do you no good. My people will sign with the New Republic."

     "That is unfortunate," the voice hissed. "There are many who would like to see the Vashen spread their life-giving invention throughout the Galaxy, to all who would be willing to pay."

     "It is unfortunate," Shish said, "but is unchangeable."

     The black man appeared to nod his head in understanding. "Politics is often that way, Vashen. But politics is the art of finding ways around problems. Certainly the nin'Pag will set aside some of their production for my merchants."

     "No," Shish said, weakly, turning his head away, "the production will be closely monitored. And your merchants the Republic calls smugglers. If I deal with them, and the Republic finds out, the deal will be off. I cannot risk reprisals from the other Houses. They could destroy nin'Pag!" Shish turned his head back slowly to face the black man. "Besides," he said bitterly, "we stand to make so much more of a profit with the Republic than you."

     "You know what you risk!" the black man yelled. "You know what you will pay!"

     Shish stood up to this. He would not cower before this, this… _alien_. "You are powerless. We have the protection of our guards here and we'll have the protection of the Republic Fleet at Vashen."

     The black man chuckled. And then he laughed, a cold laugh that the very walls seemed to loath even echoing. "That is right, Vashen, you are protected." He stretched out his arms towards Shish and his bodyguard. The black man's hands were pale, a ghastly white, fingers long and bony, tipped with claws. "But who shall protect you here?"

     With the power of the Dark Side, the black man crushed both of the Vashen's throats with the closing of his fists. They fell limply to the ground.

-----

At once, the four Jedi standing watch, Amya on the podium, and the two other Knights guarding with her, felt a cold sensation flow through them, barely there before it was gone.

     Cale said through his microphone, "Be ready."

-----

The black man began to walk to the surface, turning on a comlink. "When you see me," he said, "do it."

-----

Beneath the garble of a dozen messages in as many languages, Kyp heard, "you… do it…"

     Kyp said into the comlink, "I think we may be close."

-----

Efreet didn't bother answering. He was in the upper stands, tucked away in a DO NOT ENTER zone. No one knew he was there, and he did not know that Juren and Cale were on either side of him. Those thoughts were unimportant to him, as his craving for stik was quickly encompassing his mind again. But he could not leave. The Master required he not take stik, not until this was done. And disobedience to the Master was the last thing he was willing to do in pursuit of his addiction.

     He gazed through the scope of his rifle, holding his crosshairs tight over the place where the Vashen ambassador would come on to the platform. Beyond that, he could see the tiny door where his Master would emerge.

     Efreet's finger was close to twitching. All the killings of those smugglers to get their ships, all the crimes, all the assassinations, everything was coming together. This was his last job. The Master had promised. After this, he was free to go wherever he wanted. And the first thing he would do is lay down every credit to his name on stik…

     But first, he had the job to do.

-----

There was fanfare as the Ambassador entered, the shrilly melody of the Vashen anthem; he was surrounded by his entourage. Amya could not help but think that these Vashen looked like some sort of parasite, with their mouths that looked like suckers. The regal splendor that he was decked out in only made it worse. She took a deep breath, felt the armor squeeze back, and prepared.

     The Ambassador made it up the first step, then the second…

-----

The black man emerged from the tunnel entrance. Efreet saw him, his finger tensed…

-----

Cale felt the disturbance, "Amya, ready!"

-----

The shot did not ring out. Above the noise of the crowd and the music, it was little more than a light traveling the distance, a deadly ray that few would have noticed.

     But Amya did. She dove in front of the Vashen Ambassador, and felt the thud-PING! of the blaster bolt as it ricocheted off her armor and into the air.

-----

"I see the Sith!" Juren shouted into his comlink, "he's right below Nils!"

-----

"I'm coming down to the platform," Kyp said, leaping from his hiding place, and gliding down to the platform using the Force. He hit hard, rolled, and came up with his lightsabre in time to deflect two more shots.

     "The assassin is between Juren and Cale!" he shouted.

-----

"I'm on him," Cale said. He and Juren descended at the same time, but Cale was quicker. There was no point in hiding where he was. Cale snuck a look at Nils, who was descending rapidly down flight after flight of stairs to where he hoped the Sith would be.

     _That kid better know when to quit_, Cale thought.

-----

The entire Stadium was in an uproar. Countless different security teams tried to secure their employers, keeping them in one place and avoiding the panicked flood that should have occurred. For the civilians in the stands, however, they tried to force their way out. Cale and Juren fought their way ever lower in the Stadium after Efreet, who'd apparently lost the cover of the Sith.

     Cale caught sight of him moving down a passage, and fired his blaster, "Down! Down!" But whereas that tactic had worked before, now it only made matters worse, sending the crowd into a boil.

     _Alright_, Cale thought, _the other option_. He reached with the way, and _pushed_ the crowd between him and Efreet away to either side. Cale fired a shot with his blaster that hit Efreet in the shoulder. Efreet fell forward, rolled, and came back up on his feet and kept running. By this time though, Cale had closed some of the distance between them. When Efreet got back up, Cale had a dart in his hand. In a flash it was in the air, and then it had passed through Efreet's knee. The addict fell writhing to the ground, the tip of the dart coming out from beneath his kneecap.

     "Efreet's been neutralized," Cale said. "Juren, you come and take care of him. Kyp?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Amya okay?"

     "She's fine, everything's secure here."

     _Perfect_, Cale thought. That was when the scream came through their headsets. Nils had found the Sith.

-----

Nils had was making his way to Hangar Passage Eight when he encountered the sensation of the Sith. The Sith sensed Nils as well, and began to flee back the way he came. Nils tried to follow as well as he could. He could sense the Dark Side almost everywhere, but it seemed to be more intense in some places than others. He headed towards them.

     He came to a ladder leading up to the shaft, back towards the surface of the field where the platform was. The Sith was up there, Nils was sure of it. Lightsabre in hand, he Force-jumped up the shaft, and into an ambush.

     As soon as his feet were on the floor, of the four-way intersection of hall, back to the entrance where the Sith had emerged, there was a hard shove to his left shoulder, one that almost spun him. A hand lashed out and slapped his face hard enough to split open his cheek. Nils countered, pivoting back around to his left, and threw a kick into where he though his opponent would be.

     His leg swung through empty air. The next thing Nils saw was the sole of a boot that cracked his nose, then a hard hit to his sternum that knocked him backwards. But he recovered, rolled into reverse somersault, and came out on his feet, lightsabre ignited.

     The red eyes of the Sith portrayed a bit of excitement at this. Nils' opponent flung back his hood, revealing his Twi'lek headtails and the extreme pallor of his skin. "I try to kill an Ambassador and they send a boy after me? My, my, how the Order has decayed."

     His lightsabre appeared from nowhere, red blade flashing. Nils kept quiet, trying to focus on the fight. He emptied his mind, waited for the opponent to make the first move. The Twi'lek was on him in a flash. Nils parried the first few blows, then struck down with his own blade hard. The Sith caught it, blocked the cut with his blade, and with a push of the Force, sent Nils' blade up and back, tossing away Nils' balance, and leaving his midsection open for a strike.

     The Twi'lek wasted no time. He slashed for the Jedi's abdomen and cut a wide gash. Nils screamed, but the wound was not deep. Nils backed against the wall, blood coating the front of his robes, lightsabre held in a center guard position.

     The Sith raised his weapon to deliver the killing blow, "Well, Jedi, what do you have to say for yourself?" he asked through a smile of fangs.

     Nils smiled back, "I'm in Hangar Passage Eight!" He sprung off the wall and came at the Sith, sabre swinging.

     Amya sprung up, shook off the daze, she turned right and took off for Passage Eight, using the Force to propel herself even faster.

     The Sith parried Nils' clumsy blow spinning them both about, so that Nils' back was to the entrance to the passage. He kicked the Jedi in his stomach wound, causing the Light-sider to scream again in pain. Amya could see Nils' back by now. Nils readied his sabre, trying to see through encroaching blackness. The Sith knocked his sabre to one side, then came back and slashed through the Jedi's throat. As Nils fell, Amya leapt through the door with a scream of her own, "No!"

     She had her blade ignited, the Sith caught it against his, and caused her to pivot around into a wall. She managed to catch herself in time, and landed on her feet. The Sith came on strong and fast, his blade a red whirl. Amya parried a half dozen times from instinct, then attacked herself, pushing the Sith back some. He tried to get around her offense, and couldn't. That was when he brought out his second lightsabre.

     Amya parried one of her opponent's blades, and was entering a strike of her own when she saw the new blade in the Sith's other hand. She aborted her strike to attempt a parry, but the Sith pushed the weak defense away and cut up with the other blade. Amya stumbled back to avoid the cut, but she felt a line of heat all the way up her chest. She struck her head on the wall, and everything went back for a moment. The last thing she heard was a horrible scream.

-----

Cale got to the entrance in time to see sparks fly from Amya's armor as the Sith cut her; he looked down and saw the body of Nils Crop. Cale didn't even hesitate, he pushed and _screamed_ with the Way, lifting the Sith off of his feet and flinging him back deeper in to the passage, down a second set of steps.

     The Sith struggled to his feet, still clutching one of his lightsabres. He covered his ears, bewildered. The scream in his head wasn't fear or pain, but rage. It seemed to penetrate into his brain, surrounded him completely. He tried to concentrate to protect himself before the third Jedi came down the second set of steps to get him, but he couldn't. He couldn't think over the scream that echoed through the Force.

     And then his time was out completely.

     Cale came down the stairwell to find the Sith covering his ears, crouching. He ignited his remaining lightsabre, but Cale flung him again backwards, into the thick blast doors of the hangar. Cale could hear the sound of bones crunching.

     The Sith looked at Cale disbelievingly. The scream was coming from this Jedi, but he didn't even have his mouth open. It was a scream in the Force! And the Sith was suddenly aware of the hostility that flowed out of the Jedi and surrounded _him_. The Sith got to its feet, hit the panel for the doors and escaped into the darkness of the hangar bay. Before he went, he saw Cale's eyes, and the emotionless state they appeared to be in. His body radiated anger, but his eyes were devoid of anything at all. For the first time in a long time, the Sith's rage dissipated into something more basic: cold fear.

-----

The Sith stumbled behind his speeder. The Jedi would help his comrade. The scream that had threatened to shatter his brain was deadening, quieting. He could think again, but to him this was no better, because he could only think about the Jedi he had encountered. The Jedi who was not, could not, be a Jedi. The rage he had felt was too powerful, too focused-

     The doors opened again, and Cale entered the bay. The Sith caught only a glimpse of the man's form before something hit his foot, a stun grenade. The Sith dove before it exploded, into the center of the hanger. The explosion wasn't enough to damage the speeder, but the blast was enough to flip the tiny vehicle upside down. The Sith stumbled to his feet, sabre in hand. He lit it, and moved to face the Jedi, or whatever it might be.

     Cale stood like a calm eye in the heart of a whirlwind of anger and rage. He said to the Sith, "You killed an inexperienced girl and a boy barely trained."

     "They should not have interfered," the Sith said. His broken ribs made breathing difficult. He used the pain to fuel his anger, tried to gather the Dark Side in himself again. "Just like you should not have interfered."

     "You have no place here," Cale said. He drew his lightsabre. "Who are you, who do you serve?"

     "I am the Sith Warrior Odul'mek," he coughed, inhaled deeply and winced at the pain. It made him stand straighter. "Who are you?"

     "I am Cale Iba'Masaad, last of the Masaada."

     "Never heard of them."

     Cale lit his sabre, "You never will."

     They began to circle.

-----

Kyp found Amya. He woke her, nudging her back to consciousness with the Force. "Where did they go?" he asked her.

     "I-I don't know." She held her head with her hand. "I didn't see-"

     The boom of the stun grenade echoed from behind the blast doors. Kyp put Amya's arm around his shoulders and helped the wounded Jedi to her feet. "Come on, then," he said.

     They reached the blast doors slowly. Amya was having trouble keeping her feet under her. Kyp opened the doors in time for him and Amya to watch the duel.

-----

When the blast doors opened, the Sith attacked, counting on it to distract Cale. Cale caught the blade with his own, and pushed to the floor, until they stood side by side. Cale kicked for the ribs with his right leg, and connected. The Sith backed away in pain, roared, and then came at Cale fast, sabre raised above his head.

     Cale sidestepped, as he slashed for the undersides of his opponent's arms. He cut one, deep, and the Sith howled again. They turned, and again the Sith cut first, a strong diagonal for Cale's left shoulder. Cale blocked, then moved with the force of the cut and did something that completely confused the Sith—he shut his sabre off.

     Cale pivoted on his left foot, lit the blade on the other side of his sabre, and cut with his now upside down weapon through both of the Sith's legs. The Sith fell forward onto his still extended blade. His death was instant.

     Cale shut off his sabre, and fell to his knees, exhausted. With what strength he had left, he pressed his anger back. The duel was over. There was no need for it anymore. Now he would mourn.

     "Cale?" Amya's voice!

     In an instant, where Cale had been filled with rage, he felt full of joy, so strong even he could not explain it.

-----

They stood in the hanger of the Jedi monastery on Coruscant. Amya was explaining to Cale how she had fared in the duel. "He surprised me with that second sabre. If I hadn't lost my temper because of Nils…"

     Cale didn't answer with what he wanted, to tell her that anger was not the source of her defeat, but that her inability to focus it was. _The Way is different for all_, he thought. Instead he merely said, "It's okay. Nils died a Jedi, and he will be remembered as such."

     Amya silently accepted that. "I was told by the doctor that without that armor, I would have been cut open," she looked up at Cale, "So I guess I owe you thanks." She'd still have quite the burn scar from it though. The sabre had melted right through. "Some luck, huh?"

     Cale smiled, "The Way works mysteriously." She smiled back. He found he liked it.

     Kyp placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is far from over, friend. The Vashen are in an uproar over the death of their representative. They think the Republic might have been involved somehow. The talks will take months to repair."

     "What happens will happen," Cale said. "I came here for Efreet, and I have him." Republic intelligence had him, actually. Efreet was undergoing a crash detox program, after which he was going in for interrogation. The payoff to Tumno had already gone through to the account. Cale no longer thought it was such an absurd bounty.

     "But it would be a help for us if you would stay. The way you defeated that Odul'mek… the Jedi would be indebted to you if you shared your knowledge."

     "I have a contract to complete with Tumno. When that is done, we'll see where the Way will bring me. I hope it is back here." Cale found himself really meaning it, too.

     "But the Sith," Juren said, "we still don't know who sent Efreet, or what they want. The Sith came here by transport, there was no ship's computer we could use to track him. We could use you abilities for that."

     "Then put out a bounty. In six months I'll be released from my contract. Until then, I have my commitments," Cale said. _And when that contract is up, I should have enough money from it to buy the ship right out from underneath Tumno's feet. Munin, too._

     "Alright then," Kyp said, "you had better get going."

     Cale walked up the ramp.

     "May the Force be with you, Cale."

     Juren echoed, "May the Force be with you."

     Amya stared for a while at Cale, and then asked, "What do the Masaada say?"

     Cale was a bit surprised at the question. "'Well met, well kept'."

     "Well then, Cale, 'Well met, well kept'."

     "Well met, well kept to you Amya Des." The ramp closed, and the ship roared out of the hanger and up into the sky.

The End


End file.
